Bid Thee Farewell
by Maestus
Summary: He felt numb inside, like there was nothing there but heart wrenching emptiness now that he knew it was true; knew that Phil Coulson really was gone. And somehow that resulted in this, in standing outside the cell of the man... god responsible for this mess with a mouth running on autopilot. Implied Clint/Coulson


**This was written for a prompt over at the Avengers Kinkmeme which was as follows:**

_"Clint's reaction to the news that Coulson's dead once the adrenaline's worn off. Quiet and broken or raging and pounding on the walls of Loki's cell, I don't mind - I just want the line "But I loved him! He was mine" in there somewhere._

_Make me cry, anon."_

**Warnings for implied slash; told from Bruce's POV**

**No flames please (:**

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In all respects, Bruce had no idea what prompted him to follow Clint when the man silently excused himself from the room, shuffling out with his head down and eyes empty, having been oddly silent ever since first receiving the news that Phil Coulson was dead. He barely knew the man – had barely known either of them actually – yet some deep rooted instinct told him that now was not the time for the archer to be alone. He was a damned tricky fellow to follow, that was for sure, but somehow, someway, the scientist managed to keep up without being discovered; well, at least he _thought _he hadn't been discovered though he was positive that if he had been then Clint would have left him behind long ago. But he digressed; back to the point.

The archer was clearly hurting – that went without saying – so he was highly surprised when he took a completely unexpected turn and ducked into the temporary prison housing Loki, throwing himself down beside the wall with the defeated air of someone who had just lost sight of the light at the end of the tunnel. Bruce hung back, mentally wrestling with the pros and cons of leaving Clint to figure things out by himself to going in and offering a supporting shoulder. Then again, maybe that wasn't such a good idea; he could feel the other guy stirring restlessly at the proximity of the god of mischief, itching to finish what he started.

That was when Clint spoke.

"I loved him, you know." It was softly spoken, barely above a whisper, but even through the thick glass screen of the lab Loki was currently incarcerated in, the god heard, looking up with smirking eyes to stare at the man who until recently had been little more than his unwilling puppet. Bruce was certain that if hadn't been for the gag Thor had forced onto his brother, a barbed comment designed to enrage would have been sent hurtling in Clint's direction. As it was, all Loki could do was glare.

"I _loved _him," Clint repeated and this time he sounded surprised, as if he'd only just realised this fact. Bruce had a sneaking suspicion he knew _exactly _who the archer was talking about. "He was the only one who always treated me the same, no matter what I did. He treated me like a _human, _an actual human being with feelings rather than some robotic assassin like everyone else does. I was always Clint to him, never Barton; it was...nice." The tone in his voice suggested he was smiling, not a happy smile but the quiet sad smile that always came when you looked back over fond memories from a time long past; melancholy, reflective, filled with sorrow. Bruce knew that smile well and from what he could see, so did Loki. He now wore a look of curiosity, head tilted slightly to the side as he listened to Clint's murmured monologue.

"He was always there for me and you...you took that from me. He was the only decent thing I had in my life and _you took that from me!_" Suddenly the archer was on his feet, pounding a fist against the wall pointlessly. His eyes were suspiciously red. "The one thing no one else could control, the one thing goddamn Fury couldn't stop... I didn't even know when it happened... I woke up to find he was gone and that you had killed him and... and... He was _MINE!" _The last part was roared, the tears finally breaking free from the man's eyes to run unchecked down his cheeks. Peeking through the doorway, Bruce began to feel guilty at eavesdropping on something that was so obviously private, a one-sided conversation meant to only stay between two people. But he couldn't bring himself to leave, couldn't tear himself away from this display of pure unadulterated grief.

"He was mine... I loved him; he was _mine..." _Clint continued brokenly and finally, Bruce put his foot down and decided to stuff any stupid ideas about privacy and keeping his distance because the man was hurting and even the other guy could sense it. He entered just in time to catch Clint as his knees gave way.

"Hey, I got you; it's okay," he reassured, arms wrapping around the archer out of instinct.

"He was mine...He loved me and he was mine," was all the archer seemed capable of mumbling, head buried in Bruce's shirt, a shirt which was growing increasingly damp. The scientist awkwardly patted him on the back, eyes flicking up to notice with shock that Loki now stood with his hand pressed up against the glass, silent tears of his own flowing over the smooth metal of the gag.

In that single split moment that their eyes met, Bruce recalled all the myths he had ever heard concerning Loki and understood. How often had the god thought or spoken those words? How many times had he had his children snatched away without his consent?

He felt pity but at the same time he felt some sort of grim satisfaction that it was finally hitting the trickster just what he had done. It was time for him to sleep in the bed he had made for himself after all.

_But no amount of remorse will bring Phil Coulson back, _the scientist thought sadly. _No apology will return what Clint lost._

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**Please tell me what you think!**


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